


i love parties

by xxodii



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 10:24:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14018214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxodii/pseuds/xxodii
Summary: personal narrative i'd thought to post. i liked it so,,,





	i love parties

I was overdressed. I realized this seconds after opening the patio door. I told myself there was no reason to get upset, it's not like I could change now, my mom had already dropped me off. My dress was to the floor, and was adorned with a teal flower pattern. The spaghetti straps let my pasty arms out in the open for the world to see, and other than a few comments about how this was the first time they had seen me in a dress, the dress drew no further discussion.  
I set down the drawing I had worked on all day on a table, and awkwardly stood by the swathe of people around the outdoor table. I tell myself that I like parties. This was fun last year. But last year was fun for a different reason. I knew for a fact that I wouldn’t have my first kiss again, or any kiss for that matter this party. I regrettably pushed out those thoughts. I was going to interact, and play whatever dumb card game they were playing. I sat down, and thoroughly ignored the obnoxious opposite end of the table.  
She was loud, and attention driven. I wonder how I was ever friends with her. Best friends. For seven years even! These thoughts always aroused every time I saw her, along with a spike in heart rate. I didn’t like how she controlled me this way. Why couldn’t I get over her? I came to this party to prove that she couldn’t control me, and I could go to a party even if she was there. Petty.  
My plan was horrible. Just ignore that loudest person you know, who clearly wants to start stuff. Drama.  
“So that’s why you always wear long sleeves.”  
What? I turned to my left, then glanced down at my arms. A friend who sat at the end of the table. Awesome. I was always conscious about them. And he wasn’t wrong. As much as I hate to admit it, my arms have more hair than I’d like. Often times long sleeves made me feel better. He hit it right on the head, but why did he have to say it?  
“Yeah…” I forced a chuckled. He wasn’t all there mentally, to put it nicely, and I wasn’t about to start anything. I put my arms at my sides underneath the table. It was a glass table, but it made me feel better. I turned my body slightly away from him, and focused on the Apples to Apples game I was slightly involved in. This is supposed to be fun. You are having fun, I tell myself.  
I don’t remember the words she said, but I tried my best to ignore her, or lack respectable eye contact. Looking back this was petty and immature. We were both in the wrong. Neither of us should really be in the same room. I have always believed that communication can be the answer to many disagreements, but at that point of the relationship, I couldn’t speak to her, and there was nothing to discuss really. She had done me wrong, stuck her nose in business that wasn’t hers, and made a mess. I’m sure I made some mistakes myself too. It was an end of an era, and neither of of could really accept that.  
The party continued. I started to enjoy myself more and more, as I grew more invested in the conversations. The dominant guy at the party had spent easily twenty minutes trying to figure out the bluetooth speaker. He had even called an adult, who was somehow even less help. Finally he blasted the music from the speaker. Everybody scrambled to suggest a song, including me.  
I always feel that urge to choose music to play out loud, as if my music taste is so great that it would be an injustice for everyone not to be exposed to my choice in music. When all your friends choose is nightcore, and electronic trash you feel a duty to convert them to decent music.  
We were switching from the patio table right by the back door, to the unlit bonfire surrounded by different types of chairs and benches. There was a field of corn directly behind their backyard. Which deemed slightly strange to me, since they lived in a neighborhood.  
“I’m planning on going on a convention soon,” she bellowed. “I just finished my cosplay!”  
I’ve learned to question and doubt everything that come out of her mouth.  
Looking back I wonder how anybody even believes her. How did I believe her?  
“Food’s ready!”  
All of our heads turn with the sudden noise, and the promise of food.  
I personally ate mostly in silence. Think of like a break for the introvert.  
“Hey where is Theodore?” I changed the name, the real one is much more boring promise me.  
“Yeah, I dunno,” I chimed back. Theodore was hosting the party, and throughout he had sunk silently off to the side. He sat in silence unmoving occasionally, just looking off into the distance. This wasn’t an odd occurrence. It was unsaid, but this birthday party served more as a meetup for our too large friend group, rather than a celebration of our friends birthday party. In fact, awkwardly enough, I barely spoke to him. He was simply friends of my friends, and it would have been rude to not invite me. I mean, I was easily the coolest person there. Someone had to make the party worthwhile. Or at least that’s what I told myself to keep me going.  
The parents slid open the patio doors slowly thanks to the weight and inadequate WD-40.  
“Theodore is not feeling well,” the mom said slowly. “If he doesn’t feel better in 30 minutes we will have to call it over.”  
This was greeted with groans in everyone's mind, but silent acknowledgements slipped from our mouths. How do you disagree with that? Personally I was disappointed that the party had to end so soon. But the fun had just started.  
After a couple games of badminton, waiting for our parents come, I was reminded that the dress was a bad fashion choice. I had to hold the bottom of the hem of the dress in my left hand as I used my right hand to hit the birdie. I had heard a couple scary rips when I took too long of strides to catch the birdie that flew too far left or right.  
“He could be Soldier 76, and I could could be Tracer!” she chimed.  
I added a bit about my favorite character to the general conversation.  
“Yeah maybe you could play as him!” she said to me. To me.  
“Maybe,” I agreed.  
“Or you could cosplay!” she added, as she hit the birdie, sending it soaring over the net.  
This was almost as if times were bad to normal. As if it were a couple months ago, and I was still riding the bus to her house after school. A part of me wanted her back as a friend. I would later learn that she was the one friend that I could confide in, and that I still haven’t found one alike again to this day. She helped me keep the innocent and naive side, and appreciate that part of me. But everytime that I yearned for a best friend, I remembered how much of a bad best friend she could be. She was self-centered, and a liar. But darn, was this friendship hard to get over. This had never happened before, I had only faded away from friends in the past. This drama had never happened before.  
This conflict flared continuously through my thought throughout the night.  
The game had slowly lost all its players, and the group once again migrated to another fold out table.  
“Hey! Ashley and Emma are actually getting along! Maybe our friend group can go back to normal,” the dominant male blurted.  
I agreed through gritted teeth.  
“Yeah, my parents wanted me to do this,” she said.  
She extended her hand towards me, and my mind spiraled. The devil on my shoulder told me not to forgive her. She did you wrong. She doesn’t deserve this. No. I needed to be the bigger person. But I didn’t want her to think that everything would go back to normal. Did I want that? How was I-  
“I’m sorry.”  
Take her hand. I took her hand. I didn’t look her in eyes. I regret that.  
The dominant male jeered, “Yeah!”  
He clearly hadn’t had the situation explained to him. We were never getting back to a normal.  
The rest of party was quick, and mostly uneventful. I had retreated inside to stuff my face with cookies, silently hoping that nobody was keeping count of how many times I visited the treats. I spotted my dad’s silver car on the street, and said my goodbyes. I can’t remember if I said goodbye specifically to her. That was the last time I had a two ended slightly normal conversation with her.  
I quickly started to complain about the party, after my dad question me. He agreed that it was crappy that they had ended the party early.  
“If I felt bad while I was hosting a party, my parents would have let me do that! It didn’t matter if I was puking up blood, my mom made me host that party!” my father argued.  
I agreed. I shared the instances with her, and he got more angry than I.  
He broke me the hard truth; she was not a good person. She was mentally ill, and headed nowhere good in life. I had heard these things before, and honestly knew already. Then I thought to myself, did I really accept her apology? I told myself easily right away that I did. It took me well over seven months to realize I hadn’t. Every time I heard her voice, anger flared through me to my fingertips. Every time I caught a glimpse of that pastel blue backpack. Every time I had to explain why I couldn’t go to a meet-up she was going to.  
I had to tell myself explicitly to forgive her. It wasn’t a thing that was going to happen over time.  
Looking back, that party marked the last of an era. I couldn’t hang out with the same people anymore, and maybe I shouldn’t have. Most of them were losers, and not good friends on their own. On that ride home I decided that I was severed from that group. But I forgave her.


End file.
